Watch me fall
by pfirsichkind
Summary: He felt her fingers, stroking carefully over his scars. The touches were feather-light and he heard the soft sobs, even if she tried to hide it. "Don't tell me you're being sentimental, Lizzie."


**watch me fall**

He felt her fingers, stroking carefully over his scars. The touches were feather-light and he heard the soft sobs, even if she tried to hide it.

"Don't tell me you're being sentimental, Lizzie." He forced a smile while he watched his excoriated sore wrists.

"Shut up, asshole."

He could hear the trembling in her voice, turned around slowly. Raised his hands, putting them on her cheek which was covered with cold sweat. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, a slight tremor going through her body.

"No resistance today? Where did you leave your murder weapon?"

She bit her lip and clasped his arm which he held outstretched. He moved his hand, stroked her shaggy hair.

"It's almost over."

"How do you know?"

He grinned. "I just do."

She was broken. Of all people, the strongest woman he knew had been destroyed by Ivan. Her body collapsed, any power held with the last strenght escaped with every tear rolling down those cold, pale cheeks.

"Nothing, you know nothing. It's over, this is the end, we won't be any longer."

"Elizaveta."

His voice was strict when he held her face with both hands, forced her to look him into the eyes.

"It will be okay. They won't let Ivan do as he likes."

"I-I just want to see him again!"

Her shoulders trembled, big tears dropped on the cold stone floor, diluted the dark blood from his back where the tube had hit him. He pulled her towards him, pressed her head against his frail chest, kissed her hair, her forehead, her nose. She took his face, kissed him on the chapped lips, stroked his bloody back. Unlike before, these touches were burning like fire, but he didn't make a sound, didn't twitch. His hands wandered to her back, opened the bow of the stained dress, crawled under the fabric, touched the still soft and pale skin. She laid her head back, sighing, let his lips carress her neck. Slowly, he laid her down on the floor, tracing the contours of her body.

The quiet sighs, the teary moans were stifled by his lips, burying his hands in her hair. Both felt hot waves rush through her body, both whispered quietly.

"Roderich"

"W-west"

* * *

She took his hand, smiling at him encouragingly, she pulled him forward towards the wall. Around them were the sounds of chopping, hammering, chiseling, everything one could use to tear that stubborn concrete down. The cold December wind blew around their noses. He trembled slightly, felt the fresh wounds and the old ones. The ninth of November had been a rush of feelings for him. Happiness, longing, haste in his veins when they told him the news. And then pain and bitter hate when Ivan took it out on him.

In early December she had been standing in front of his door, quietly taking his hand and pulling him with her. Ivan had watched him go, that childish smile even now still on his lips. He left nothing behind. But there was nothing to take with him anyway.

They had traveled three days, avoiding large cities. For the last few kilometers from the border of East Germany to Berlin, they took the train. The trip passed in silence. Where to go when arriving in Berlin? West had certainly been there on the ninth of November, but now it was the middle of December and the capital - and West's home – of Germany was Bonn.

Was his house still standing? If not, then where would they stay? Her head had dropped on his shoulders. He had carressed her hair, gently smiling, whispering into her ear.

"So then to Vienna. After Berlin to Vienna."

He had not seen her smile.

* * *

Now they faced the wall. Hesitantly his fingers touched the cold concrete. He pulled away quickly and hastily, as if he had burned his skin. But she took his hand and pulled him away - crossing the border a few meters away to go _over there_.

A storm of voices, smells, feelings captured him, thoughts of thousands of people thrusted into his heart, made him gasp, fall on the floor, surprised. She asked anxiously if everything was okay, he just nodded, confused - they were one thing, a country undivided, were those people still his, was he even the GDR now- all questions, all doubts were interrupted by a deep voice.

"Bruder?"

When he looked up, when he heard her surprised cry, Ludwig stood before him, steel-blue eyes wide opened. Trembling and slowly, like an old broken and sick man, he stood up.

"Здравствуйте, West."

Startled, he jerked at the sound of Russian words leaving his mouth, stared into the face of Ludwig, where he could catch a flicker of deep sadness before his brother caught himself again and pulled him gently and carefully into his arms.

"Willkommen zuhause, Gilbert."

Now he let the tears flow and they sickered quietly into the thick dark blue scarf that Ludwig was wearing.

* * *

The night he spent in Ludwig's arms, feeling a little bit guilty because of her. But she had urged him to and after years he had heard her carefree laughter again. He knew it was not honest, but his cackling ealier at the sight of a beer mug hadn't been genuine either. But how could he tell his little brother, who pulled him into his arms, touched him as if he were made of glass, washed him and dried him off and dressed him as if he was a toddler.

He was happy to have his brother back, to be able to hide his nose in the other's neck and inhale his scent deeply. He was also happy about his stomach, filled with potato dumplings, red cabbage and rabbit and the soft pillow under his head. But even though he was in his house, _his home_ - he was no longer the same. Something was missing. He did not know what that was. But her eyes told him that she felt the same - and that was somehow comforting.

* * *

He had wanted to take her hand, but she kneaded them in her lap, excited. He could not resist the mocking grin as she ran to the train toilet when there were close to Vienna and then returned with smeared mascara. He raised his hand and gently arranged the make-up.

"Somehow weird."

"What?"

"We."

"So?" He grinned.

"Yes."

She took his hand hesitantly, kissed the finger tips.

"You better don't do this in front of Sissi, Lizbeth."

She rolled her eyes at the sound of the nickname but couldn't supress the amused grin.

"Gilbert?"

"Hm?"

He pulled her towards him, she dropped her head on his shoulders.

"Gilbert, what … what are we?"

He didn't want to hear those questions.

"What do you mean?"

"I have Roderich. You have Ludwig."

"Yes."

"So let's leave it this way?"

"Lizbeth. You are Hungary, I am" He hesitated - "East." He couldn't say GDR anymore. "We have always been. That we will stay."

She squeezed his hand.

"Yeah."

* * *

He stood beside them, watching oddly how Roderich buried his face in her hair, wondering if she had felt the same when he had met Ludwig in Berlin. But when she glanced over the Austrian's shoulders and breathed a silent _thank you_ in his direction, tears in her eyes, he knew that somehow everything was fine. He smirked when Roderich addressed him with Prussia.

Yes. Everything was fine.

- fin

I may sound uneasy in some parts since I wrote it in German first and then translated. :| Hope you don't mind.

Здравствуйте = hello

Willkommen zuhause = welcome home

Klöße, Rotkraut und Hase sounds wayyyyyyyyy better than potato dumplings, red cabbage and rabbit. :|

Anyway – At first I had the idea to write about Prussia and Hungary but then Tina wanted Germancest to be included so it turned out this way. Haha. 8D; (AGAIN SOMETHING ELSE THAN I WANTED AT FIRST.) For me this is a process of healing. They trust each other, the have deep bonds to each other but they don't love each other in a romantic way. They love their partners. But they find a way to comfort themselves. So no love triangle or something. No hidden secret love. Just deep affection. :') Hope you get the message.


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